Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “It’s okay, officer,” Franklin said. “I’m okay. My wife is just upset. I’m really sorry, and we’ll hold it down.”

  The officer didn’t move at first. He’d received the lecture from Detective Wallace about the sensitivity of this assignment. He cut Pamela an ugly look, then turned and left.

  Charlie had known it would be an emotional scene, but hadn’t anticipated this reaction. Nor had she considered how easily her empathy for Pamela could switch to anger. She and Pamela shot eye darts at each other. Charlie was tempted to grab Pamela by the throat, but Serena continued the grip on her arm.

  “Pamela,” Serena pleaded. “I know this information is upsetting, but please hear us out.”

  “Us? So you’re all in on it. You expect me to believe my father would kill Peter. You all must be crazy!”

  Pamela’s voice grew louder, and Franklin tried to pull her back into her seat. She slapped his hand away, and gave him a ferocious glare.

  “I said don’t touch me! How dare you accuse my father of this . . . this madness. My father is a good man. I guess he was right about you. I guess you did kill my brother. And to think I defended you and took your side against his,” she said, sobbing.

  “Pamela. Please listen,” Serena shouted to get Pamela’s attention. “There was a witness to your brother’s murder. He implicates your father and another person.”

  “What witness?” Pamela hissed.

  “The man we tracked to Canada,” Charlie said. “Don spoke to him. We were preparing to bring him back to Detroit . . .”

  “You!” Pamela pointed to Charlie. “You’ve known about this craziness from the beginning, haven’t you? You’ve been lying to me all along. You knew where Franklin was hiding, and didn’t tell me. It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Franklin didn’t want me to tell you . . .”

  “You claimed to be helping me. Following up on leads,” Pamela shouted. “But all the while you were working against me.”

  “That’s not the case,” Charlie tried to explain.

  “Shut up!” Pamela spit the words. “This morning you sent your mousy little office worker to my house to win over my mother. To fish for information. And all the while you and your partners were conspiring to blame my father for Peter’s death. No,” Pamela said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to hear another word from you, and I may sue you for defamation.”

  “Pamela,” Franklin shouted. “Stop it! Charlie was only trying to help me. I never wanted her to be involved. You called her.”

  His words seemed to get through. She stopped shrieking and turned away from Charlie to face her husband. She was shaking so hard the fur on her coat trembled. Franklin squinted at first, but Charlie watched his eyes widen and water with tenderness.

  “Listen to me,” Franklin’s voice was quiet and hoarse. “No one else has access to, or knowledge of, my gun safe except you and your family. I wrote a letter to Stan telling him I had the money clip. I didn’t know what else to do. Honey, two days later someone put a bullet in me. Charlie’s colleague escaped an attack in Canada, and then a witness—whose fingerprints were found in Peter’s apartment—was attacked in a jail cell in Toronto. He’s dead. Only a few people have the resources and reach to orchestrate that kind of retaliation. Don’t you see?” Franklin was pleading for his wife’s understanding. “It has to be Stan.”

  Charlie couldn’t see Pamela’s face, but she saw her shoulders stiffen and heard her release a sigh. Was it resignation? Despair? Pamela reached for her handbag.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

  She didn’t make eye contact with Charlie as she maneuvered around the chairs and headed for the door. Franklin, Charlie and Serena, still stunned by her emotional outburst, didn’t try to stop her.

  “I should go after her,” Franklin finally said.

  “You can’t leave this room. I’ll go,” Charlie said.

  “Both of you stay here,” Serena ordered, racing after Pamela.

  Franklin looked stricken. He cradled his injured arm and bowed his head. Charlie didn’t speak. His manner recalled the day, five years ago, when she’d asked him for a divorce. They’d been separated for a year, but it was a sad moment as they both acknowledged the pain of their failed marriage. Charlie stood and took the seat Pamela had abandoned.

  “I’m sorry. I knew this would be a tough confrontation.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” Franklin said. “After I left Peter’s place, when I was hiding, I considered just walking away from my marriage, my job, Detroit—everything. I thought leaving would be easier than having to face Pam. She’s in agony, Charlie.”

  “And angry.”

  “Yes, but mostly caused by her pain. She’s lost everything.”

  “You always did try to see the other person’s side of things,” Charlie said. “It’s one of the things I loved about you.”

  Franklin tried to smile when Charlie touched his arm, then took his hand.

  When Serena returned, they released hands and Franklin swiped at his wet cheek. Serena pretended not to notice. She took off her coat and tossed it across the bed.

  “I’ve been fired,” she said.

  “No. You haven’t,” Franklin responded. “You’re still on the case. The money will be coming from me. And I still want Charlie and her team working with you.”

  “Well, all right then,” Serena said.

  “Did you get to talk to her?” Charlie asked.

  Serena shook her head. “No. She just fired me, and slammed the car door in my face. She was already on the phone, probably to her father, when she pulled off.”

  Charlie nodded. “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter 22

  Don was waiting in Wallace’s office. He’d moved to the small conference table, and helped himself to coffee. It had been more than an hour since Wallace went upstairs to talk to Travers, so he tried to keep busy. He spoke with Detective Li in Toronto, and left a message for Caesar Sturdivant’s attorney, hoping the hit man’s confession could still help somehow. After Charlie called to report on the explosive meeting in Franklin’s hospital room, Don checked in with the freelancer in the parking lot for his take on the action.

  “Denton? Rutkowski here. Is everything okay down there?”

  “Yes, sir. Twenty minutes ago, Mrs. Rogers rushed out of the hospital. Another lady followed her. It looked like maybe they had an argument. Then Mrs. Rogers got in her Mercedes and drove away, and the other lady went back into the hospital. Other than that, it’s been quiet.”

  “Okay, Denton. Keep your eyes open. Call me if anything else goes down. And before you say it, don’t call me sir.”

  “Oh. Right. Got it, Mr. Rutkowski.”

  Wallace came back to the office with a mournful look and a need for coffee.

  “I take it Travers was angry.”

  “Angry and feeling sorry for himself. He’s taking it personally. Rutkowski, this is the God’s honest truth. We’re gonna need more evidence. Without it, this guy will go free.”

  “Believe me. We’re working on it.”

  “I had to talk Travers down from arresting your partner.”

  “Why?”

  “The money clip.”

  “You told him about the clip?”

  “What else was I supposed to do? He said he was tired of the Mack agency’s meddling.”

  “We weren’t exactly meddling. We had a client paying us to investigate.”

  “Yeah, I know. But withholding evidence. That’s straddling the line. Hell, it’s over the damn line.”

  “This isn’t exactly a straight-line case.”

  “I know. I know.” Wallace wedged himself in at the table, winced from the stiff coffee, and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Travers doesn’t like to rock the boat. That’s how he stays above the fray. Unfortunately, everybody involved in this case is knee-deep in fray. If I know him, he’s already trying to buy himself an out with the chief.”

  “This is going to be
really ugly,” Don said.

  “As ugly as it gets.”

  “I think Fairchild will get more reckless. It was an amateur move to have his people take a shot at me in Toronto.”

  “I know. Everything’s quiet at the hospital, but I’m adding another man to the detail.”

  “I spoke with my guy, too. He’s got an eye on the parking lot and the front door.”

  “Good.”

  Don looked at his phone. “I have a call coming in I’ve got to take.”

  “You need privacy?”

  “No. You should hear this, too. It’s Sturdivant’s attorney. I have a bunch of questions, and maybe some of his answers will give us that evidence you need.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  # # #

  At 6 p.m. on Friday, the Mack partners would usually be closing the office for the weekend. But tonight Charlie, Don, and Judy held an emergency meeting. Tamela was gone, but Hoyt Timbermann was on hand.

  “The attorney is willing to give us a deposition of his communication with Sturdivant, and copies of his notes,” Don said. “Wallace was relieved to hear that.”

  “I guess a dead client makes attorney-client confidentiality a moot point,” Judy said.

  “Actually, no. Privileged communication survives a client’s death,” Charlie explained. “But Serena thinks we can make the case for a waiver. I hope she’s right.”

  “Travers is pissed at you,” Don announced.

  Charlie smirked. “What else is new.”

  “And Wallace has added men to the hospital security detail.”

  “Is Denton working out okay?” Hoyt asked Don.

  “He seems to be. Charlie and I will take over for him at eleven. We’ll play it by ear for the morning. Rogers may be moved to Ionia County to keep him in a safe environment.”

  “That’s a long way from the city,” Charlie said. “Pamela won’t like it.”

  “From what you said about this morning’s meeting, do you think she’ll even care?” Judy asked.

  “I hope so. She was angry and insulting, but I think it was just shock.”

  “She called you a bitch,” Judy said indignantly.

  “I know. But I can take it. We did lie to her. In fact, everyone’s been lying to her. Her husband, her father . . . I’d be upset, too.”

  “Well, we received her check in the mail yesterday, and I deposited it this morning. I hope she doesn’t put a stop payment on it,” Judy mused.

  “Anyway,” Don said, annoyed at the interruption. “At Ionia, Franklin will be isolated and secure, and he can get the rehab he still needs for that arm. Wallace thinks that’s better than having him at the Wayne County Jail.”

  “Did you ask about Franklin’s gun?” Charlie asked. “Serena seemed to think it might lead to something.”

  “Yes. We talked about the gun. The evidence handling was standard operating procedure, and so was the chain of possession. The only fingerprints they could recover were Franklin’s. I did ask Wallace to try to take prints from Franklin’s safe, which will require a search warrant. He said he would. We also looked at the crime scene photos again. I still think it’s odd that Peter was shot in the bathroom, but the gun ends up on the carpet in the sitting area. That feels like an inconsistency.”

  “I agree,” Charlie said. “But it’s not enough to help Franklin in court.”

  “It might have if your ex hadn’t run. Then the police report could show that his hands and clothing didn’t have gunpowder residue. But that horse has crossed the tape.”

  “Your point is taken. Again. So that’s enough about the gun. I want to talk about this new Scanlon information that Judy’s discovered,” Charlie said. “It may be the real smoking gun.”

  “So, what do you have, Novak?” Don asked.

  Judy began pulling several items from her folder. “I can’t take all the credit for this. It was Tamela who found the first bit of information. Scanlon had a lot more involvement with Fairchild, and this bourbon deal, than she let on,” Judy said, passing a sheet of paper to Don. “This is a photo of her with Robert Madison. He’s the Canadian distiller. The photo is taken at his house in Windsor. Scanlon is Madison’s interior designer.”

  “You gotta be kidding,” Don said. “So that business about ‘I can’t quite remember his name’ was just bullshit.”

  “Total. Madison is on the board of Scanlon’s design company. I got the articles of incorporation from the secretary of state. I kept digging and found out that two years ago Scanlon’s interior design company became a subsidiary of Fairchild Enterprises.”

  “So old man Fairchild and Scanlon have a business relationship? Damn.”

  “And that relationship predates the one she had with Peter. She told you and Charlie she’d never met Papa Fairchild.”

  “She’s a conniving broad. I bet she and this Madison guy were trying to take Peter for his money,” Don said. “This guy might not even own a distillery.”

  “You might be right, Rutkowski,” Hoyt agreed. “I checked out Madison with some union guys I know in Canada. He’s got a couple of different businesses and owns some delivery trucks and warehouses, but nobody knew anything about a liquor business.”

  “I also did some checking on Madison,” Judy said, looking at a paper in front of her. “He has applied for, and been granted, a couple of liquor licenses, but that’s as much of a connection to a bourbon business as I can find. He’s owned a lot of businesses in Ontario. You want me to keep checking?”

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “When we add this information to the mix, and if we can use Sturdivant’s confession to his attorney, we’ll have something solid to hand to Serena.”

  “And to Wallace,” Don added. “We also might get lucky with fingerprints on Franklin’s safe. Mack, we should meet with Scanlon tonight. If Fairchild spooks her, she could disappear before we can get her to talk.”

  “How do we get her to see us?” Charlie asked. “Our last meeting wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.”

  “I could invite her for a drink,” Don suggested.

  “That would work?” Judy asked.

  “Novak, I am a lot more charming to women than you think.”

  “Obviously,” Judy said, smirking.

  “Charm notwithstanding, you’ll need to dangle more than a drink to get a meeting with her,” Charlie said. “Karen’s pretending to be someone she isn’t, and we know it. We are not her favorite people.”

  “What’s important to her?” Judy asked.

  “Money,” Don replied.

  “That’s right,” Charlie agreed. “So, let’s reel her in with something we already know she wants. How about those artwork certifications she was trying to steal from Peter’s apartment? They’re probably worth a lot.”

  Don looked skeptical. “Really?”

  “Look, I’ll write out what to say. Then you give her a call.”

  Chapter 23

  Don arranged to meet Karen Scanlon at the Pioneer Bar in Ferndale. Charlie followed in her Corvette, and was across the street from the bar when Scanlon drove by, made a U-turn, and parked a few cars behind.

  Charlie watched through the mirror as Scanlon jumped down from the Hummer. She wore a leather coat and tight jeans tucked into heeled boots. She had a red tam pulled down over her straight blond hair. She whipped off the tam before entering the bar.

  Don would buy Karen a drink and inform her Charlie was bringing the portfolio for the artwork. In the phone call he’d informed her the Mack Agency was no longer on the case, but the police had released the certificates and asked that they be returned to her. She seemed to buy the story, and agreed to meet them, which meant Fairchild hadn’t yet warned her away from them. It also confirmed her intent to scheme Peter’s estate out of the paintings he’d purchased.

  Charlie waited ten minutes before approaching them at a back booth. Don had an almost-full glass of scotch in front of him, and Karen was lifting the orange slice from what looked like a screwdriver.

 
; “Oh. Here’s Ms. Mack now,” Don said, sliding over in the booth. “You want something to drink, Charlie?”

  “No, thank you,” Charlie said, sitting. She and Karen shared stony looks.

  “I hope this is the last time we’ll have to meet, Ms. Mack,” Karen said with a searing stare.

  “Me too, Ms. Scanlon, or Ms. Sketcher, or whoever you are today,” Charlie said sarcastically.

  Karen never stopped staring as she picked up her drink and swirled the ice cubes. Don sipped his scotch and observed the drama. When Charlie reached into her backpack and laid a folder on the table, Karen glanced at it and warmed up with a smile.

  “I hope that’s for me.”

  “It’s more about you,” Charlie said, opening the folder and turning over three sheets of paper. “This is a photo of you standing next to Robert Madison. This is a copy of a business directory showing your company as a subsidiary of Fairchild Enterprises, and this is a copy of your board of directors, including Madison.”

  Karen Scanlon was a con master. Her eyes glinted her surprise for only a millisecond. Charlie and Don watched as she lifted her glass to her mouth for the last finger of her drink. “So what does that prove?”

  “It proves you lied to us,” Don said.

  “We’ve all been lying, haven’t we? I don’t suppose you have any art certificates in that folder.”

  Charlie shook her head. “Karen, you’re in trouble. Are you aware that an inmate in a Toronto prison implicated you in the murder of Peter Fairchild?”

  Scanlon dropped the coolness. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Caesar Sturdivant,” Don said. “Any alarm bells ringing? Sturdivant told me and a Toronto detective that you shot Peter with Franklin’s gun. He says he was in the room but only there to coldcock Rogers and help you with cleanup.”

  “I don’t know the guy, and I didn’t shoot Peter. Franklin did.”

  “That’s what you and Fairchild would have us believe,” Charlie said.

  Scanlon sat upright and still. “You don’t know a damn thing, lady.”